I’ve spoken “I love you” through your crevasses too many times for you to forget the melody of my speech. And the tones were steady. The patterns were the same. I’ve written too many poems for you to forget that I showed my appreciation for you. Gave you enough validation to resurrect the dead. I love you. Truth beyond hypothesis. Selfless love. And on your body I’ve cultivated your self-esteem. I’ve grown from you and aided your growth. I’ve spoken, written, shown you love too many times for you not to love yourself. For you not to know what love is. Love is confidence. Love is comfort in solitude. Love is that urgency to be. Be with or just be. And with you I learned its depths. I learned of its of magnitude. Wrote this in hopes of not writing about you, but therapy goes its own way. I loved you for you. Not ideas. Not potential, although I know of your greatness. I loved you for everything you were. And I love you still. If my depressions weren’t so crippling, would I have shown you in other ways? Would I have shown you in greater depths? Questions I ask myself, to entertain my health. But I love you, I do. And I will till the end of the cosmos.